


Opening The Bookshop

by ProjectPython



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Short, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectPython/pseuds/ProjectPython
Summary: After Gabriel comes down to try and bring Aziraphale back to heaven, Aziraphale and Crowley celebrate the opening of the book shop with a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates, and a chat about heaven, hell, and their relationship.





	Opening The Bookshop

“Oh thank the Almighty,” Aziraphale breathed, opening the door for Crowley and letting him into the bookshop. He gratefully took the flowers tucked under his friend’s arm and flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’, drawing the blinds down over the window. “I thought Gabriel would never leave,” he said. “You rescued me. From going back up there, I mean. So thank you.”  
“It was nothing,” Crowley said, hanging his coat and hat on the rack by the door and collapsing onto the couch, putting his feet up on the armrest. As Aziraphale passed, he pushed them back onto the floor. “I’d prefer you over Micheal any day.”  
“Well that’s very flattering,” Aziraphale smiled. He took the chocolates from Crowley’s outstretched hand and opened the lid, setting them to the side. Before he sat down, he dug around in a cupboard and produced a vase. As he set it on a table and put in the flowers, it slowly up filled with water.  
“What? No wine? I thought we were celebrating!” Crowley cried. “Look at you, you’ve opened a bookshop! I think that calls for something special, don’t you?”  
“I don’t have any,” Aziraphale said, settling into his armchair. “You can survive without wine for one night, can’t you? Besides, I have a cup of cocoa.” He motioned to a mug sitting beside his chair.  
Crowley raised his eyebrows.  
Aziraphale shifted uneasily in his seat before caving. “Oh, alright,” he said. “I do have a bottle around here somewhere... but I was saving it for a special occasion. It’s very old.”  
“And?”  
Aziraphale fidgeted under his gaze for a moment before standing up hurriedly and sighing. “Fine. I’ll get the wine.”  
“There we go!” Crowley shouted, rubbing his hands together. While Aziraphale was in the back room, he put his feet up on the armrest again and stole a chocolate from the box.  
When he returned, Aziraphale poured him a glass and sat down, watching Crowley as he took a sip.  
“So,” said Crowley, taking off his glasses and setting them to the side, “what’s your plan for this place? You know you don’t really need to make money, don’t you?”  
“Of course,” Aziraphale nodded. “I just wanted a spot for me and my books. Isn’t it lovely?”  
“It’s cozy, I’ll give you that,” Crowley shrugged. “Quaint.” He wrinkled his brow. “So you’re going to sell books? Seems unlike you. You’re practically married to them.”  
Aziraphale blushed. “I am not! Though I would never dream of selling anything. A lot of these are first editions, signed, even... no, they’re staying right where they are.”  
“Defeats the purpose of a shop, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked.  
“I—“ Aziraphale stuttered. He picked up his cocoa and took a distressed sip. “I don’t need your opinion on that. It’s my shop, not yours.”  
“Suit yourself,” Crowley said. “I don’t understand shops, anyway. Or books. That’s your thing.”  
“You should really try reading a few,” Aziraphale said, perking up a little. “I’m sure I have something in here that might strike your fancy—“  
Crowley waved the thought away. “No, no. Don’t bother. I’d fall asleep before I reached the second page.”  
“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale said. “Sleep. The regular demonic pastime.”  
“Ah, yes,” Crowley mocked, “eating. The regular angelic pastime.”  
Aziraphale shot him a small glare. “So how’s the fermenting going?” He asked.  
Crowley almost choked on his wine. “‘Fermenting’? I haven’t used that word since—“  
“The Middle Ages, I know,” Aziraphale said. “You get what I mean. The... general spreading of malice. Evildoing. That sort of thing.”  
“It’s fine,” Crowley sighed. “To be perfectly honest, it’s hard to come up with any new ideas. Humans have managed to make quite the world for themselves. Oppression, hate, class divides... I’ve got my work cut out for me.”  
“But there’s good out there,” Aziraphale argued. “Love is everywhere. You just have to look for it.”  
“You don’t have to look far for evil,” Crowley said, taking a sip from his glass. Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it promptly, taking a chocolate from the box and avoiding Crowley’s eyes.  
“You’ve shaved,” the angel commented after a moment of silence.   
“I have,” said Crowley. “Do you like it?”  
“I rather do,” Aziraphale smiled. “It suits you. It reminds me of when we first met. Long hair, shaven face. Without your glasses, even more so.”  
“Yeah,” Crowley said, running his hand over his chin. “I kind of missed it, to be honest. The beard was a little much to maintain.”  
“May I?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley shrugged. The angel smiled, setting his mug to the side and walking over to the couch, sitting down beside Crowley and running his fingers over his chin.   
“Very nice,” Aziraphale said. “You look lovely.” He let his hand linger on Crowley’s cheek.   
“You can stop touching my face now, angel,” Crowley said, smiling slightly.  
“Oh, right,” Aziraphale promptly removed his hands, setting them in his lap. “I’m sorry.”  
“Not a problem,” Crowley said, taking a drink. He looked the other way casually, and his hand fell on top of Aziraphale’s.   
The angel turned his hand over and wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s. “You know,” he said, “I’m always a little bit worried that we’re being watched. What if the Almighty finds out about this? Or worse, Gabriel? We would be finished. Sent back up and down respectively, and would never see each other again. I don’t think I could handle eternity without you.”  
Crowley glanced at him. “You’d prefer my company over the other angel’s?”  
“Well, naturally.”  
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”  
“Don’t be,” Aziraphale said. He squeezed Crowley’s hand. “What about you? How would you like an eternity in hell?”  
Crowley scoffed. “It’d be just that: hell. No one’s got any imagination there. Everyone’s so... unapproachable. There’s no one like you.”  
“Yes, well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said.   
Crowley grabbed his wrist and pulled him against his shoulder. Aziraphale looked up at him, his eyes wide as he saw the serious expression on the demon’s face. “Crowley?”  
“My point is that I’d much rather be here with you than down there with a load of demons,” he said. “If that’s going to end up in us being separated, then so be it. I’m not going to avoid seeing you in fear that we’ll get caught.”  
“Crowley...” Aziraphale smiled. “I’m not letting you go anywhere. I’d... well, I’d rather fall than have to spend the rest of time on my own.”  
Crowley frowned at him. “You don’t mean that, do you, angel? You don’t want to fall.”  
“If it would mean—“  
“No,” Crowley stopped him, placing a finger on his lips. “You don’t want to fall.”   
Aziraphale took his hand away and held it tightly. “Alright, then. I don’t want to fall. It would be best to be cautious, in that case. So that we can prevent that from happening.”  
Crowley paused a second, his fingers twitching in Aziraphale’s. He leaned down and lightly planted a kiss on the angel’s forehead.   
“It’s never going to happen,” he said softly. “You’re going to be my angel for the rest of time, understand? Even if heaven burns away and all the stars fall, we’ll still be together, just the same as we are today.”  
“Sometimes I wonder why they send you down here,” Aziraphale said. “You’re too good for hell, Crowley. Too kind. I worry sometimes—“ he laughed, “— that you’re an angel sent down to test my loyalty, and that I’m failing miserably. But that’s just silly, isn’t it?”  
“If it wasn’t, do you really think I would tell you?” Crowley smirked. He pulled Aziraphale closer to him, letting his chin rest on the top of the angel’s head. His hair was soft, like cotton, and warm from the sun streaming in through the window. Aziraphale wrapped his arm around him and grasped his coat.  
“Your coca is getting cold, angel,” Crowley said.  
“It doesn’t really matter,” Aziraphale replied.


End file.
